Unforgiven
by Zyre
Summary: Wesley and Spike meet up accidentally and find themselves thrust off on an adventure that will test their sanity and their faith in themselves. Complete, and rated R for a reason. (Wesley/Spike slash.)
1. Chapter One

Disclaimers: I don't own these characters, Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, and the rest do. No copyright infringement is intended, I'm just taking them out to play.  
  
Warnings: Drinking. Spoilers for season 3 Angel and season 6 Buffy. And slash. If you don't like that, please don't look. :)  
  
Summary: Spike and Wesley both go home to England and run into each other. Adventure ensues.  
  
A huge thanks to Wesleys Girl for the beta. She rocks.  
  
**  
  
what I've felt  
what I've known  
never shined through in what I've shown  
never be   
never see  
won't see what might have been  
- Unforgiven by Metallica  
  
**  
  
Wesley entered the small pub, smiling just a bit. The smell of cigarettes and Guinness met him, and he breathed deeply. It was good to be home. Granted, Stoke wasn't exactly home, but it was close enough. It had less sunshine than Los Angeles and far more rain, and while he was fairly certain he'd end up back there some day, he liked the familiarity of this place.  
  
He went to the bar and ordered a pint, turning to survey the crowd as the bartender got his drink. A blonde head towards the back caught his eye, and he made his way over. As he drew closer his suspicions were confirmed; it was Spike. They'd never actually met, but Wes had heard enough from Giles, Cordelia, and sketches Angel had made that he was fairly certain he could recognize the man.  
  
"Anyone sitting here?" He motioned to the empty seat across from Spike, rather surprised to see bloodshot eyes turning up to him. He looked almost like he'd been crying and drinking himself stupid for days. His bleached hair was beginning to grow out, with just hints of brown starting to show. Spike stared hard at him for a moment before answering.  
  
"'M not your type." He turned back to his drink, and Wesley shrugged and sat down anyway.  
  
"I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." He held his hand out to the other man, and set it palm down on the table when Spike ignored it. "And if I'm not mistaken, you're William the Bloody."  
  
Red eyes turned back to focus on Wesley, narrowed to dangerous slits. "Fuck you." Wesley raised an eyebrow, and Spike elaborated. "I don't know how you found me, but don't think I'm talking to you. I've heard what a worthless Watcher you were." He stood to go, but Wesley reached out and dragged him back down.  
  
"I'm not here to stake you, or... anything, really. Just want to share a drink." Personal barbs aside, the man looked like he could use some company. Hell, Wes thought, he could use some company himself. "Why aren't you in Sunnydale?"  
  
Spike regarded him with an odd sort of introspection before taking a deep gulp of beer and answering. "I left. I thought I had to prove something to Buffy so I...I just left."   
  
Wesley could tell that there was more to it than that, but didn't want to push things. They sat together for awhile, discussing the weather, and the beer, and anything but important things. Wesley wondered why the vampire seemed so closed off, what had happened to make him so quiet.   
  
"Hey, Pryce, do you believe in God?"  
  
Wesley blinked and stared at Spike, surprised by the question. "God?"  
  
"Yeah. Y'know, the Almighty, Creator of Everything, Giver of Life, all that." Spike played idly with a salt-shaker as he spoke, never once looking up at the other man.  
  
"I guess I'm not really sure," Wes replied after thinking about it for a bit.  
  
That did get Spike's attention, and he looked up with a tiny smile. "You're not sure? You, an ex-Watcher, aren't sure?" Wesley just stared at him, and he continued. "You do remember that you could burn holes through my skin with a cross, don't you?"   
  
"Indeed." Wesley turned his beer on the table once before taking a small, thoughtful sip. "I suppose that's all based on belief, really. Vampires were around long before the inception of the Christian church, after all." He took another drink. "It's probably quite likely that I could burn you with that salt, if I had absolute, unerring faith that it was holy. It doesn't seem to have much at all to do with God, in the end."   
  
"That sounds like an easy way out, to me." Spike had lost his cockney, slipping into a rather smooth upper class accent. "What about all those prophecies you types are so fond of reading?"   
  
"What does it matter, Spike?" Wesley had thought a lot about those prophecies in the past, but this was getting too deep for casual drinking conversation. He didn't feel up to debating religious philosophy with a vampire.  
  
"It matters," Spike slammed his bottle down on the table, "because I can't remember where I was."  
  
"What?" This was making no sense. "I don't have the patience for riddles right now."  
  
"My soul." He paused, probably for dramatic effect, and it certainly worked on his disbelieving company. Wesley raised his eyebrows, waiting for more. "I don't remember where it was. I thought that when I went to all the trouble of getting the damn thing back that there'd be some certainty. Or even a feeling, you know?" He shook his head, his eyes tracing wood grains on the table. "But there's nothing. Not a single thing, not a feeling or even a happy thought about where it was. And that makes me wonder; what happens? Obviously we don't just wink out, or retrieving souls would be impossible, right?"  
  
Wesley agreed, but was still trying to grasp the situation. "You have a soul now? Why?"  
  
Spike shrugged and tipped his beer in a mock toast. "Love of a woman. Oldest story in t'book, in'it?" He managed a small laugh. "I thought I was doing right by her, getting it back. And now...now that I know everything I did, I can't go back there. I could never force...make her try and love this. I'm a monster."  
  
The sadness in that statement had Wesley almost pitying the man. He'd learned to deal with the broody 'I'm not worthy' phases that Angel went through from time to time, but Angel had had a century to put himself back together before they had met. This was pure, raw aching, and it was all Wes could do to keep himself from reaching over the chip bowl to take Spike's hand. "Do you need anything?"  
  
Spike just shook his head with a small smile. "No. But thanks."  
  
They sat in silence for awhile, each lost in their thoughts.   
  
Spike finally broke the silence with a soft "Oh, yeah," and pulled a small coin from his pocket. "I bought this from a gypsy fellow a couple weeks back, and I'm not sure what it is."   
  
He held it out to Wesley, who examined it curiously before reaching for it. It was silver and ornately engraved, though Wes couldn't make anything recognizable from the shapes at first glance. The spiraling figures were divided by a thick line down the middle.   
  
"Figure since you're a bookish type you might know."  
  
As Wesley took the small silver coin between his fingers, a tremendous thundering filled his ears, and the last thing he saw before the world went black was the astonished look on Spike's face. 


	2. Chapter Two

Warnings and disclaimers in chapter one, but as always, a huge thanks to Wesleys Girl for the beta.  
  
**  
If there were no desire to heal  
The damaged and broken met along  
This tedious path I've chosen here  
I certainly would've walked away by now.  
-The Patient, by Tool  
**  
  
Wesley came to slowly, wondering why everything was so cold. He could feel something hard and sharp pressing against his face, and his skin pulsing with his heartbeat, so he knew he wasn't dead. He tried to roll over but found the action hampered by a firm weight on top of him. With a soft "oomph" he threw his weight up, feeling the form on top of him roll over and groan.  
  
"Spike?" he whispered as he moved to his hands and knees and tried to adjust to the inky darkness surrounding them. They were in a very small space, and his stomach twisted horribly when he felt his way up the wall. This was all frighteningly familiar; the darkness, the walls, the slightly musty smell, the feeling of being trapped. His voice had an edge of urgency as he turned and gripped the vampire's shoulder tightly. "What was that thing?"  
  
Spike sat up slowly, holding his head. "Dunno. If I'd known it'd give me a headache I wouldn't 'ave bought it." He groaned again and shook Wesley's hand off. "Bloody *hell* that hurts."   
  
Wesley's eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the light, and his suspicions were confirmed. They were in a small room, barely big enough to move, and there was a small sliver of faded light against the floor behind Spike. He put one finger over the vampire's lips and bent over him, his hand moving across the wall until he found the edge of a door.  
  
He reached up and felt that space above them as far as he could, making sure there was room for them before standing carefully and pulling Spike to his feet. He could feel the man's questioning look against his fingers but ignored it. "Spike." The word was barely audible, more of a breath than a whisper. "The door's locked; you have to open it.   
Quietly." He felt Spike nod and heard him jiggling the doorknob, trying to break the lock without too much sound.   
  
Wesley was trying his hardest to remain calm. He'd been in far more dangerous situations during his time at Angel Investigations. None of the situations they'd been in, however, had ever taken him back to his childhood in such a tangible sense.  
  
A click and a triumphant grunt from the vampire had Wesley scrambling to get out of their dark confines. He kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, afraid of seeing things sickeningly familiar when he opened them. He felt Spike at his side and fought back the urge to grab him, just to have something close.   
  
"How'n the hell'd we get in there?" Spike asked softly, and Wesley finally opened his eyes.  
  
It was just exactly the way he remembered it, if somewhat smaller. Spike was looking at Wesley curiously, but he ignored it, his eyes focused on the small coat closet situated underneath the stairs. The paint on the inside of the door was chipping, and it was completely empty. Even the shelves near the ceiling were gone. The floor was covered in the same thick brown carpet that his parents had taken out when Wesley was eleven years old.   
  
Spike must have realized that something was terribly wrong, because he put his hand on Wesley's arm and turned him so they were facing. "What's wrong? You been here before?"   
  
Wesley nodded, dragging his eyes from the closet and to Spike's worried face. "Yes. I..." He swallowed thickly and continued. "I grew up here. It doesn't look this way any longer, but it's just as I remember it."  
  
"So?" Spike quirked an eyebrow curiously. "What's wrong with that? Home's home, right?"   
  
Wesley closed his eyes and tried to collect himself. Spike was right; there was nothing wrong with it, not really. He was being foolish. "It just makes no sense that we'd end up in my old house twenty years in the past, Spike." He shook out of the vampire's grip and walked away, toward the front room where his mother used to sit and crochet.   
  
The sun was shining brightly outside and spilling through large windows onto the carpet. The light made all the colors seem faded and grainy, giving the place an ethereal feel. He walked through the light slowly, running his fingertips along the back of his father's chair, pausing to pick up a magazine. The date read July 5, 1979.   
  
"Spike," he said softly, turning, and he was momentarily surprised to see that the vampire hadn't followed him.   
  
"There's someone up there, Watcher," Spike said, pointing up the stairs and never looking over at Wesley. He started to quietly climb the stairs, a curious look on his face, and Wes dropped the magazine and followed him, wondering if his parents would recognize the adult version of himself in 1979.   
  
They climbed quickly, and Wesley made his way down the hallway to his bedroom. He peeked through other open doorways on his way and found them all empty. Spike was following him quietly, obviously not wanting to bother Wesley too much.   
  
Wesley pushed the door to his room open slowly and looked inside. It was just as he remembered it: bare walls, hardwood floor, shelf after shelf of heavy volumes, a small bed, and finally his desk. The desk that the ten year old version of himself was currently occupying.   
  
The little boy turned and looked at him, smiling just a little when he saw who was in the doorway. "Oh, it's you. Hello, Wesley."  
  
"Hello," Wesley answered uncertainly, trying to wrack his brain for any memory of a large version of himself visiting when he was ten. He couldn't recall any, and with a small shrug he stepped into the room, motioning to Spike to follow him. They walked over to the desk and little Wesley, staring down at his projects.   
  
Spike made a soft sound of surprise when he saw what the child was drawing, and Wesley simply stared, openmouthed. There were pages of drawings spread out over the desk, all of them representing parts of Wesley's life. The one he was working on studiously was a picture of the hospital room Wesley had been in after Justine had cut him. Angel was standing over him, holding the pillow, and the shaky, childlike quality of the drawing only made it more disturbing. It was all Wesley could do to keep from ripping the picture away from his child self and tearing it into tiny pieces.   
  
"He doesn't hate you, Wesley." The child looked up at his older counterpart. "He's just scared." Wesley hardened his features, the memories of being completely helpless and nearly murdered by his best friend washing over him.   
  
Spike reached over and turned the picture little Wesley was drawing so that he could see it more clearly, and then looked up at the other man with a dark expression. "He tried to off you?" Wesley simply nodded, and Spike's eyes narrowed more. "He have 'is soul, too?" Wes nodded again and Spike's lip curled. He turned from the Wesleys angrily and walked away, obviously lost in thought.  
  
"Look, um. Wesley. What exactly are you?"   
  
The little boy shrugged and looked up at his larger self. "I'm you. Or, what you think I should be, at any rate." He grinned a bit and stood, looking up at Wesley. "This house and me are the manifestations of your mental projection of yourself. Kind of ironic that I'm only ten, isn't it?"  
  
"I rather seriously doubt that I consider myself a child," Wesley replied coolly and he motioned with his hand. "All of this is...my subconscious?"   
  
The child shook his head and pointed over his shoulder at Spike. "He wouldn't be here as himself if it were. In fact, he probably wouldn't be here at all." He shrugged and then stuffed his hands into his pockets. "No, this is a very real place, though maybe not in the conventional sense."  
  
Spike walked over to the two of them, his eyebrows drawn together discontentedly. "So how the hell d'we get outa here, then?"  
  
Little Wesley turned to look at Spike, an amused gleam in his eyes. "There's only one way."  
  
Wesley sighed when it became obvious that the child wasn't going to elaborate. "How?"  
  
Little Wes grinned at the two of them. "Forgiveness." 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimers and warnings in chapter one.  
  
As always, a huge thanks to Wesleys Girl for the beta. :)  
  
**  
  
exit light  
enter night  
take my hand  
off to never never land  
  
something's wrong, shut the light  
heavy thoughts tonight  
and they aren't of snow white  
-Enter Sandman, Metallica  
  
**  
  
"What the hell are you on about, kid?" Spike was glaring down at Little Wesley angrily. "Forgiveness for what?"   
  
The child shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not your guide." He slipped his hand familiarly into Wesley's with a smile.   
  
"Oh, that's just bloody perfect." Spike threw his hands up, still glaring, and then shoved them into his pockets. "Right as fuckin' rain, that. Watcher-boy there gets to prance off happy as can be, and I'm stuck here in a bloody stuffy house with nothing to do but wallow in my misery, s'that it?" Wesley shot him a fairly nasty look, and Spike backed down a bit. "Sorry. But this is bloody irritatin'." He turned his attention back to the child. "I mean, honestly, what the hell am I doin' here in this house with him? It's a mistake is what it is."  
  
Little Wesley reached over and patted Spike lightly on the arm. "We should go out. You look like you could use a drink." He eased a hand from Spike's pocket and clasped it lightly, pulling the two men out of the room.   
  
Spike threw an uncertain look at Wesley over the child's head, and Wesley just sent one of the same back at him, having decided that it'd be best to go along with the remotely familiar in this place. They walked quickly back down the hall and down the stairs, and Wesley couldn't resist one more glance back at the God-awful closet underneath the stairway. When he looked back at Spike, the vampire gave him a slightly worried smile.   
  
Spike stopped short when they reached the door, pulling his hand away from Little Wesley's. "You tryin' ta kill me, too? That's not exactly how I'd imagine this'd go."  
  
Little Wesley just beamed up at him and threw the door open, bathing them all in almost painfully bright sunshine. Spike yelped and jumped back and Wesley quickly shut the door. Little Wesley just giggled brightly and clapped his hands.  
  
"What in the bloody fucking hell d'you think you're doing?" Spike yelled, slipping into his vampire features and baring his fangs at the child.  
  
"Oh, it didn't hurt," Little Wesley contended, stepping past Wesley and opening the door once again. "It's not even real sunshine." He took Spike's hand and held it in the light his smile growing when nothing caught on fire. "See?"  
  
Spike looked from the boy to Wesley in amazement and then stepped completely into the light. "I'll be damned," he said softly, and Wesley couldn't help but notice how good Spike looked when he really smiled like that.  
  
Little Wesley stepped outside, still holding Spike's hand and reaching out for Wesley's. "On the way at last," he said brightly, and they started down the street.   
  
Outside the house the world was nothing like anything Wesley could remember seeing. It looked like what could pass as a normal neighborhood, but the houses were set about very haphazardly. There were large ones and small ones; some were very old and still others seemed quite new. He recognized some of them; they were houses he'd grown up with and lived in.  
  
A look at Spike's face told Wesley that the vampire was recognizing many of the places as well. His expression was dark and his eyes were flickering nervously, as if he were afraid of the shadows.  
  
Little Wesley began to skip a little, humming to himself and pulling the two adults with him. A few moments later he led them down a darker street, which ended with a small, dodgy looking building. A sputtering neon sign simply advertised the place as "Pub." Wesley sighed softly; despite his confusion and the oddity of their situation, he very much doubted that getting drunk would help to accomplish anything. Little Wesley gave his hand a tight, comforting squeeze right then, and Wesley couldn't help but wonder about the child's psychic abilities.  
  
Spike let go of Little Wesley's hand with a muttered "Thank God" when they reached the pub, and he quickly pushed the door open and stepped inside.   
  
Wesley followed him, also letting go of the child. He was completely enveloped in darkness when he stepped through the door, and he automatically stuck his hand out, searching for something to hold on to.   
  
He quickly found Spike's arm. He recognized the feel of the vampire's leather jacket, and Wesley worked his hand down the arm he'd found until he could wrap his fingers around Spike's wrist. He stepped up close to the other man, wondering where their miniature counterpart had gone.  
  
"Can you see anything at all?" he whispered softly into Spike's ear.  
  
"Naw. Gettin' kinda sick of this dark cramped room stuff, though." Wes felt Spike turn a bit so that his side was pressed firmly against Wesley. It seemed almost like a comforting touch, and Wes found that he was quite grateful for it. "Where'd your mini-me get off to, then?"  
  
Wesley shrugged and felt around behind him, finding nothing. "I've no idea. He was here a moment ago." He was about to let go of Spike and feel around a bit more when a door opened, casting dull light over the two of them.   
  
"William?" A soft, feminine voice spilled over them, and Wesley felt Spike stiffen. He couldn't see anyone beyond the doorway, but the voice persisted. "William, come in here."  
  
"Who is that?" Wesley asked softly, his eyes trained on the mysterious room beyond.   
  
Spike swallowed thickly and waited a moment before answering. When he did, his voice was barely audible.  
  
"Cecily." 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimers and warnings in chapter one.  
  
As always, a huge thanks to Wesleys Girl for the beta. :)  
  
**  
  
(falling away from me)   
It's spinning round and round   
(falling away from me)   
It's lost and can't be found   
(falling away from me)   
It's spinning round and round   
(falling away from me)  
Slow it down.  
  
**  
  
"Who?" Wesley whispered, still staring into the room in front of him. When no answer came he turned and looked insistently into Spike's terrified eyes. "Who is Cecily?"  
  
Spike shrugged Wesley off of his arm and shook his head. "Not real," he whispered and turned around, looking for the entrance they'd come in through. Wes could see that the door was no longer there; the walls were now lined with long, low shelves. Spike ran along them, knocking things off and running his hand along the wall, and the entire time he kept repeating those words – "not real, not real."  
  
Wesley was about to go to him when a figure stepped through the door. She wore a long white dress with black trim, and dark curls framed her pale face. When Wesley peered more closely at her, he was horrified to see that she'd been horribly disfigured.   
  
"Are you alright?" he asked, holding a hand out to her. She ignored him, walking past without a glance, and Wesley couldn't help but think that once again, things were most definitely not right.   
  
She stopped in front of Spike, who had fallen to the floor. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, and his head was hidden beneath his arms.  
  
"William." Her voice was much more severe then it had been earlier, and Spike flinched but kept his head down. She knelt in front of him, reaching out to cup his face lightly, and smiled - a look that sent small shivers down Wesley's spine.   
  
Spike looked up, finally, and when he saw her face he screamed. Wesley was at his side in an instant, running soothing hands over Spike's arms and hair and neck. The vampire didn't seem to notice him at all; his eyes remained fixed on the woman looming over the two of them and he kept up his hoarse scream.   
  
Wesley pulled Spike into his arms, having no idea what else to do. "Stop it!" he yelled, staring angrily up at the Cecily woman, though he had no idea what "it" was. She smiled pleasantly at him and started to laugh, a soft, tinkling sound that clashed painfully with the horrible sound Spike was making. Her amusement only seemed to terrify Spike more, and Wesley rather wished that his little guide was here to help.   
  
He began to make soft shushing sounds in Spike's ear, and it calmed the vampire a bit. The woman knelt down in front of them, and as Wesley watched, her face began to smooth and gain color; the deep cuts closed over and revealed a very beautiful woman.   
  
She smiled again and touched Spike's face lightly. "Take, oh take those lips away..." Those whispered words drew a reaction. Spike snarled and turned to her, his face taking on his vampire features. He snapped at her hand and Wesley started, falling backwards and away from the vampire.   
  
Cecily, however, just laughed again and ran her fingertips down the ridges of Spike's nose, ending with them resting against his lips. "That so sweetly were forsworn," she finished, and Spike whimpered, his face smoothing back to human. "Tell me the rest, William." Spike shook his head, but she placed a hand on his cheek and held his gaze, almost daring him to defy her. "Tell me. I want you to say the very last thing I ever heard." Her face relaxed into a very lovely smile. "And then I'll help you."  
  
"And..." Spike began, his eyes darting fretfully. "And those eyes, the break of day, lights that do mislead the morn." His voice was barely audible and Cecily's eyes glowed a bit when she heard him speak.   
  
Wesley stayed still as the strange encounter unfolded. He recognized the Shakespearean sonnet, but not the context. He lay a hand gently on Spike's arm, and the vampire looked at him as if really seeing him for the first time.   
  
"Wesley..." The word was soft, almost reverent. Spike took Wes's hand, twining their fingers together, and stood. "Help me?"  
  
"Of course," Wesley replied, giving his hand a small squeeze. "We're in this together; I've no intention of going anywhere."  
  
Spike took a deep, unnecessary breath and nodded, turning back to Cecily. "I'm ready."  
  
She smiled and motioned for them to follow her as she walked towards the doorway she'd come though. Wesley could feel Spike shaking a little as they walked, and he hesitated before walking through. Wes gave him a reassuring smile and walked just in front of the vampire, trying to shield him from whatever they were bound to encounter over the threshold.  
  
Wes was temporarily blinded when he walked through, his senses bombarded by bright light and the low rumble of a very large crowd. His eyes quickly grew accustomed to the light, and he realized that they were standing on a balcony overlooking a large, very full ballroom.   
  
Spike shrunk back from the edge, his face turned away, but Wesley walked forward and peeked over. The floor was teeming with people, all of whom looked quite dead. They walked about and spoke to each other, but they were all very pale, and many sported terrible wounds on their necks.  
  
Wesley felt Spike pull away, and he turned, watching the other man crumple to the floor once again, his head completely hidden beneath his arms. Cecily was staring down at him, but turned her gaze to Wesley.   
  
"I rather doubt a mortal can help him with this." She swept her hand out, encompassing the crowd with the movement. "There's too much death."  
  
"I believe that's up to me to decide," Wes replied, and sat down beside Spike, his arm wrapped around the vampire's waist comfortingly. "And I'm quite certain that I can do it."  
  
**  
  
tbc 


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimers and warnings in chapter one.  
  
As always, a huge thanks to Wesleys Girl for the beta. :)  
  
**  
  
If I fall along the way  
pick me up and dust me off.  
and if I get too tired to make it  
be my breath so I can walk  
- Bent, Matchbox 20  
  
**  
  
Wesley held Spike close for a long time, alternating between whispering in his ear and watching Cecily pace back and forth in front of them. She was speaking in a low voice and seemed rather out of sorts with them for sitting there. Wesley gave Spike's shoulders a little squeeze and stood finally, catching her wrist.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked her softly. She stared at him blankly for a moment before sighing and leading Wesley a few steps away from Spike.  
  
"Do you understand what this place is?" she asked.  
  
"Not - not entirely, no."  
  
"It's not exactly a place, not really. On the other hand, it's not entirely a state of mind, either. It's a place that can only be reached by people like yourselves - lost souls, so to speak." She paused, looking over at Spike's huddled form. "Some more than others. I believe he may be here quite a bit longer than yourself."  
  
Wesley frowned. "I wouldn't leave him to face this alone. He's been here an hour and it's already driving him insane."  
  
"I'm here," she replied, clasping her hands behind her back. "Don't you think I want him to get better?"  
  
"Right." Wesley snorted a little, shaking his head. "You obviously aren't helping him a great deal." He frowned at her and folded his arms over his chest. He had no intention of letting her near Spike anymore - the poor man was still trembling with fear and sadness. She was watching Wesley intently, a tiny smile on her face.  
  
"Well..." Wesley realized she wasn't going to be any help unless he asked her the right questions. "How do I get him out of here, then?"  
  
"Forgiveness." Her voice was soft and penetrating. Wesley's small child guide had said the same thing, and he thought he was starting to understand.   
  
"So...all of these people have to forgive Spike for killing them?" He moved to look down over the balcony at the throngs of people as he spoke. Cecily stepped up beside him, her pale, delicate hands resting on the banister.  
  
"No." She sighed softly and Wesley turned to look at her, waiting patiently for her to continue. "They aren't real. They have no real opinions about William." She turned to look at the huddled figure behind them. "He has to forgive himself, that's how he'll find his way home."  
  
Wesley sighed softly and turned as well. "That will take quite awhile, I'm afraid."  
  
"You think you can help him?" Wesley gave Cecily a look that said he though he could, and she shrugged. "Many have come here and tried to help each other, but very few have ever succeeded. It's hard to help your friends when you are facing your own demons."  
  
"What does that mean?" Wesley narrowed his eyes, though he already knew the answer.  
  
She smiled wryly at him. "No one comes here with a clear conscience, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. You simply haven't seen your own guilt yet."  
  
With a last, sharp laugh, Cecily snapped her fingers and Wesley felt the floor drop out from underneath him. His arms flailed out, searching blindly for purchase. He hit several people and landed on his hands and knees. People surged around him, and he instantly looked around for Spike or Cecily. A low, keening moan to his left sent Wesley crawling between the tangles of legs around him. He tried to stand several times, but found it almost impossible to move quickly enough through the people.  
  
Spike's moans stopped, and Wesley held still for a moment. "Spike? Where are you?" He heard a soft whimper followed by a piercing scream, and began to crawl more quickly. He reached Spike and pushed people away so that he could wrap his arms around the vampire. Spike shrieked and tried to pull away, but Wesley held on as tightly as he possibly could.  
  
"Spike! Spike, it's me, Wesley." He shook the other man lightly. "Look at me! Please, Spike..." He reached up and cupped Spike's chin, turning him and leaning forward so that when he spoke his warm breath ghosted across Spike's face.   
  
"Spike, please listen to me." Spike shook his head, his lips forming silent protests, but Wesley put one finger across them. "I'm alive, Spike, and I'm going to help you get out of here. You have to look at me and trust me, though. You have to believe that I want you better, and that these people won't hurt you. You have to believe that I won't hurt you."  
  
The vampire licked his lips and slowly opened his eyes, and Wesley couldn't help but notice how beautifully blue they were. He held Spike's gaze, his hands resting lightly on his shoulders, and stood slowly, never breaking eye contact. Spike stood with him, though he was trembling so violently that Wesley was afraid he'd be unable to walk.  
  
He wrapped his arm around Spike's shoulders, holding him close as he searched for an exit. Somehow they'd landed in the middle of the crowded room, and the balcony had disappeared. Cecily was nowhere to be seen, either, a fact which Wesley found rather reassuring. He spotted a door against the wall closest to them, and he reached up to cover Spike's eyes as they began to press towards the exit. He didn't want the poor man to accidentally see anyone who would make him lose his resolve.  
  
It took them almost five minutes to get there, and Wesley's hand was soaked with cool tears. He pushed the door open, sighing softly with relief when he found a small, unoccupied room. Spike's legs gave out, finally, and Wesley helped him sit against the wall before closing and locking the door, switching on the light.   
  
It was a small bedroom, and while Wesley was hesitant to trust anything in this world, he decided to chance it. Spike had curled into a small, shivering ball, and so Wesley hurried, checking the room for any hidden people or traps. When he was certain everything was safe, he led his charge over to the bed, helping him lie down and then crawling in beside him.  
  
Spike tried to shy away from him, but Wesley wrapped his arms around him and held him close, offering what little warmth and comfort he could. He wanted to explain, but knew that it would be lost on the poor man right then, and so he simply held him, letting him cry himself to sleep.  
  
It was much later when Wesley finally drifted off, too. 


	6. Chapter Six

This is the last chapter of this story, and it's rated R for a reason. Please be aware of this, and don't read if R rated things bug you.  
  
That said, I hope you enjoy it! :) Disclaimers and the like are in previous chapters.  
  
**  
  
Wesley woke with a small start, not sure what had woken him, but he instantly noticed that Spike was gone. He blinked the sleepiness from his eyes and rolled over, sitting up as he did so, wincing when his feet touched the cold floor. He stared at the door they'd come through earlier and realized suddenly that something was different - off, somehow. Wes found that he was suddenly afraid to turn around.   
  
A rustling sound behind him finally made him look, and his heart constricted in his chest. Somehow the other half of the room had transformed into a hospital room. One wall was covered with x-rays, and the small bed was surrounded by monitors and other equipment. Wesley stood slowly and made his way over. Everything about the room was as he remembered it, from the small crack in the wall opposite the bed to the distinctly medicinal smell that hung in the air   
  
A perfect replica of himself was lying in the bed sleeping, and Spike was standing beside him, staring at the scruffy face intently. He didn't look up when the real Wesley stepped up beside him, though a small shudder coursed through his body.   
  
"I don't know which one to believe," Spike whispered.   
  
Wesley tore his eyes from his replica's face to look at Spike questioningly. "What do you mean? I'm the real Wesley, Spike."   
  
The vampire finally looked over at him, and Wesley thought that his eyes looked darker than before. "How do I know, though? This place...you could be in my head entirely and I'd never know it."   
  
"Hey," Wesley replied, and he took Spike's hand, squeezing lightly. "I'm real, alright? And I've no intention of leaving you. Besides," he motioned to the bed with his free hand, "This already happened to me."   
  
Spike reached out and almost touched the bandage around sleeping Wesley's throat, and then turned and did the same to Wesley's scar. "How?"   
  
"Long story," Wes said, repressing a shiver at the hesitant touch. He took a small step backwards, pulling Spike with him. He didn't want to run or make any other movements that would startle Spike, but he had an overwhelming urge to get away from his past.   
  
Spike moved to put on his shoes, stepping into them slowly, and his eyes never left the Wesley on the bed. Wes, despite his desire to get as far away from here as he could as quickly as possible, knelt to lace up Spike's boots for him. When he finished, he sat back, looking up at the other man.   
  
"Ready to go?" he asked, and when Spike nodded he stood. "Hey," Wesley whispered as he reached up to touch Spike's chin. "Over here. I'm right here."   
  
Spike finally tore his gaze from the bed, meeting Wesley's eyes a little uncertainly. "Here," he repeated, whispering almost inaudibly. His eyes dimmed a little and he furrowed his brow. "Cecily?"   
  
Wes shook his head, cupping Spike's chin lightly. "She's not here, Spike, but I am, and I want to help you." His eyes flickered to the bed. "But first I think we ought to get out of here."   
  
"Okay," Spike agreed after glancing between the Wesleys. He took a deep, unnecessary breath and started for the door, and Wesley could almost see the vampire steeling himself for what lay ahead of them. It was a reassuring sign, Wes thought, and he slipped an arm around Spike's shoulders.   
  
As he reached out to open the door, it flew open, and Wesley had to jump back to avoid being hit. Spike was pulled violently from him and tossed out the door. Wesley was too busy grasping for Spike to see who the new person entering the room was. The door slammed as he reached for it, and disappeared, the edges melting into the wall until there was nothing there.   
  
He stared at the wall for a moment, swallowing when he turned around and his fears were confirmed.   
  
Angel was in the room now, standing beside the bed and staring down at the form lying in it. He began to speak, and though his words were too soft for Wesley to hear them, he remembered the words clearly enough. They had burned themselves into his mind.   
  
And then, more quickly than he remembered, the pillow was in Angel's hands and pressed against his twin's face. He was struggling weakly against the attack and machines began to beep urgently. Wesley realized that he was expecting to see orderlies and doctors rushing in to his rescue - but there were no doors. No way for anyone to come to his aid. No one to save him - except himself.   
  
Wesley dashed forward, around the bed, and sped up, leaning into the run a little as he was intent on tackling. He opened his arms, wrapping them around Angel - but he kept going. He stumbled a little as he passed right through the vampire, and threw his arms up to protect himself from the medical equipment he was falling towards. He fell right through that, too, and groaned when he hit the floor hard.   
  
A red light began to flash somewhere and Wesley rolled over, nursing what was probably a sprained wrist. Angel was still there, as was the pillow, and as Wes stood slowly he could still see himself struggling a little.   
  
"Angel," Wesley said, walking up to the side of the bed. "Angel, stop it."   
  
His words didn't seem to have any effect. Wesley reached out and tried to touch the hands holding down the pillow, but his fingers just went right through them. He waved his hands around, but nothing was tangible. Not Angel, not the equipment, not even himself.   
  
"This - this isn't real," he whispered. He backed away and as he did the urgent beeps turned into one long tone. "Not real," he said again, more loudly. "Not real, none of this happened." He bumped into the wall behind him and blinked, but he didn't look away from the scene before him.   
  
Angel gave the pillow one last shove before he stepped back as well. The pillow fell to the floor with a soft thump. Wesley could tell that the other version of himself was dead. The face was ashen, eyes closed, and Angel reached over and touched the cheek almost delicately.  
  
"A traitor's death," Angel said.   
  
Wesley slid down until he hit the floor, his hurt wrist all but forgotten. "Not real, not real, this isn't supposed to happen," he whispered, and then it started all over again.   
  
**   
  
Spike stared at the door as it disappeared. Angel had thrown him out. Angel was here, and he had made everything worse. Spike pressed a palm against the blank wall, wondering if he'd still be able to hear Wesley. He pressed his ear against the wall, then, and didn't hear anything, but it reminded him of something. Something he couldn't quite place, something that was cold and...   
  
Angelus.   
  
Spike shivered a little and closed his eyes. Angelus always took him this way. Behind his eyelids he could see the stone wall of the mansion in Sunnydale. He could feel it, too, colder than his skin.   
  
Angelus had picked him up by the front of his shirt and held him up against the wall, since he couldn't hold himself up on his hurt legs.   
  
Chains, there were chains he remembered, and he unconsciously moved his arms up, mimicking the position he'd held that night. He was chained up so that Angelus could make the most of it and use his hands for other things.   
  
It wasn't a frenzied, needy fuck, either. Angelus had taken his time, biting and teasing and cutting. Spike remembered that his wrists had started bleeding before Angelus had even undressed completely. Even then everything was painfully slow: the hurting, the touching, the fucking.   
  
It was torture and Angelus had known it. Spike pressed his fingertips against the wall and wondered if the scratches he'd made were still in the stone wall of the mansion. They had been pretty deep, considering he hadn't had much of in the way of fingernails before, and afterwards they'd been bloody, the nails broken down far below the tips of his fingers.   
  
Other times had been different. Always against the wall, but sometimes it was faster. Sometimes Dru watched, and sometimes their victims did. It was always about dominance, though. Always about Angelus asserting his ownership.   
  
Spike slid to the ground, his arms wrapping around his head as memories flashed through his mind. So many of them were bloody. Spike cringed and curled up more, whimpering softly.   
  
Hurting Buffy was there. And then - then, somewhere, Angel was screaming. Angel, chained up and bleeding and screaming, and Spike could remember the sick pleasure that had come from that and how much it had turned him on. He'd been in charge, that time.   
  
All of the people in South America were there - an entire town in one case. Dru cutting them up while Spike watched, and sometimes vice versa. All of the people in Sunnydale. So many of them screamed, too.   
  
Spike cried out as he lost himself completely to the horrors in his mind.   
  
**   
  
Wesley was shaking uncontrollably and he hadn't moved from his place on the floor against the wall. After Angel had made sure his effigy was dead, he'd disappeared through the wall, and a moment later everything was back to the way it had been. Wesley on the bed was alive, and the heart monitor showed a pulse.   
  
Angel came stalking through the wall where the door had been, the same way he had before, and came to rest beside the bed. He began to speak - the same words he'd said before, the same words Wesley had memorized. He didn't think that anything had changed, it was all so - familiar.   
  
This time, though, instead of grabbing the pillow, Angel reached into his jacket and pulled out a stake. "I can't help but think," he said, "that what you did was evil. You murdered an innocent child, Wesley." Angel sat down on the edge of the bed, idly tossing the stake from one hand to another. "You stole my child, Wes. My son."   
  
Angel reached over and caressed the other Wesley's face tenderly. "I can't think of anyone who deserves this more." He stood up and with a small frown he drove the stake into the man's heart.   
  
Wesley clamped his hands over his ears, trying to keep out the sound of his own hoarse scream.   
  
**   
  
Spike was killing his first slayer again. Drinking her blood, fucking Dru on the floor while the girl lay dead beside them. He was shaking - all these memories were almost too much for him.   
  
He remembered the first time Angelus ever took him. It was the first time he'd ever really been touched that way before - he was a silly little dreamer when he was a man, and not allowed to touch as a vampire. He tried to seduce Drusilla once, soon after he was turned, but Angelus had dragged him out into the hallway before anything could happen.   
  
He couldn't remember what had been said, but supposed it didn't really matter. Touch had always meant more to him anyway, and there was plenty of it that night. Angelus had, naturally, slammed Spike face first into the wall and torn his clothes off violently. He growled something like "you're mine and you fuck when I let you," and then he'd slammed into Spike hard and fast, until Spike screamed, and then Angelus bit him. When Spike's legs gave out, Angelus left him there, laying shivering on the floor in a pool of his own blood.   
  
"You deserved that," Angelus had said. Spike remembered that much.   
  
Spike still made overtures at Dru, and got fucked every time Angelus found out about it. There were a lot of scratch marks in the halls where they had stayed.   
  
**   
  
"This is what child murderers deserve," Angel whispered, and then pulled the trigger. Wesley watched a fan of blood erupt from the bed, and Angel's rather satisfied smirk.   
  
His twin screamed hoarsely again and arched off the bed, writhing a bit as he died, and Wesley covered his head with his hands, resting his forehead against his knees. He almost believed it, everything that Angel had said to him.   
  
He did believe it. He'd hurt his best friend, he'd ruined people's lives because he'd been too scared to tell them about what he'd found.   
  
Not scared, he hadn't been scared. But he hadn't done what he should have, and now the child he loved and would have helped to raise was dead. And he was being punished for it.   
  
Angel disappeared and the room reset once again. Wesley rocked back and forth a little, trying to think, trying to forget the way he looked when he died. He'd never known that a person could be so expressive, though he thought maybe it made sense, since he'd died so many different ways.   
  
Angel came back in, and Wesley sighed and rested his head back against the wall as Angel gave the same opening speech again. He wished that would change, at least, instead of the method of death. It was getting frighteningly violent - every time was more bloody then the last.   
  
This time, Angel pulled a dagger from the folds of his jacket and began to cut idly into the Wes-on-the-bed's skin. "This," he said, adding a little pressure and making Wes squeak with pain, "is what you deserve."   
  
Wesley looked up at that, narrowing his eyes a little. Angel kept saying that. This is what you deserve.   
  
Did he though? Did he deserve to die horribly?   
  
Something his child-self and Cecily had mentioned before came back to him - something about forgiveness. He had to find it, he had to - to forgive himself.   
  
"You deserve every scar that I give you. You deserve to bleed to death; you deserve to be in hell." Angel was cutting more intently, and the man on the bed was squirming with discomfort.   
  
"No." Wesley stood up and took a deep breath. "No I don't."   
  
Angel glanced up at him then, a small smile touching his lips, but he continued to cut.   
  
"No, I don't deserve to die. I don't deserve to be hurt like this." Wesley took a step forward, holding his injured wrist in his other hand. "I may deserve a lot of things from you - in fact, I know that I do - but death is not one of them." He took another step, holding his head up. "I am the only judge in this place, and I say that you have to leave now."   
  
Wesley walked forward until he was standing at the bed. Angel was looking up at him curiously, but Wes ignored him, looking down at the pained face of his twin. "I forgive you," he whispered. "I forgive you, because you know that what you did was not out of evil intent. You know that you meant only good to come of your actions."   
  
He would have gone on, but the world around him began to evaporate. He shook his head, looking around frantically. "No! No, I can't leave without Spike, I won't. He needs me."   
  
The world disappeared completely, and Wesley found himself standing alone in a gray room. He looked around for an exit, feeling along the walls for some sort of opening or soft spot. He hadn't gotten far when Cecily walked through the wall beside him, and as he watched she shifted until she was his child-self again.   
  
Little Wesley smiled up at him and reached for his hand. "Do you think that you can help him, Wesley?" he asked.   
  
Wes nodded, accepting the hand and crouching down in front of the child. "I do. I honestly do. I want to try, at least."   
  
"There is one way that you can be with him right now, and one way only. You must understand that it is very unlikely that it will work."   
  
Wesley nodded. "I accept that. I know that he'll listen to me, he has to."   
  
"Very well," Little Wesley said, smiling a little. "Best of luck to you."   
  
The child snapped his fingers, and the gray room disappeared, replaced instantly with a darkly lit hallway. It was rather fuzzy, but Wesley could see someone moving a little ways down. As he moved forward he realized what it was - it was Spike and Angel.   
  
Spike cried out, and Wesley ran the rest of the way to them, gasping a little when he saw what Angel was doing to the other man. It was his Spike, he could tell - he looked over at Wesley as Angel came, and he was crying.   
  
Angel - or, Wes supposed, this was probably Angelus - hadn't seemed to notice him, but he could see Spike's eyes light up a bit when he recognized him. Angel sneered and shoved Spike hard before walking away without a second glance. Wesley caught Spike as he began to fall.   
  
"Spike, are you - what is this?" he asked softly, smoothing Spike's hair back.   
  
"It's what he does to me. It's - it's - " Spike coughed and couldn't seem to finish. He buried his face against Wesley's shoulder and held on to him. "This all happened when I was - when I didn't have the soul," he explained after a minute. "But I don't know how to make it stop."   
  
"I know how," Wesley told him, and nodded a little when Spike looked at him disbelievingly. "I can get you out of here, but - "   
  
He was cut off by a loud scream. Spike gasped and tried to escape Wesley's embrace, and when Wes looked behind him he saw why. Angelus and Dru and Darla and Spike were all tearing up a family. It was horrible - there was blood everywhere, and they were all having what seemed to be the time of their lives.   
  
Spike wrenched himself out of Wesley's arms finally, and started to run off, though he didn't get very far before he tripped over his undone pants and fell down. Wesley hurried over to him, lifting him up and fixing his pants for him.   
  
"Spike, you need to not think about - about that sort of thing, alright?" Spike looked confused, and so Wes continued. "I need you to think about when you were a human. Think about something when you were alive that made you happy - a good memory."   
  
Spike still looked uncertain, but he closed his eyes and Wesley could see him trying. The scene around them began to change, and they were sitting outside suddenly. Wesley looked around and saw that they were sitting beside a creek, surrounded by sunshine and trees. William was sitting on a rock not far from them, scribbling in a little book.   
  
"Good! Good, Spike, look." Wes pointed at William and made sure that Spike followed his gaze. "You see that? That is you, now. That's all that should matter to you, do you understand?"   
  
Spike looked like he did, but he shook his head a little and moved closer to Wesley, glancing up at the sky.   
  
"You are William, now. You, William, never hurt anyone. You loved life, you see? You revered things and were sweet and beautiful, and that hasn't changed." Wesley glanced between them, his eyes bright. "The demon did things in your body, but he never, ever controlled you, William. Now that you're back, you can do good again. You can be as alive as possible, in this body."   
  
Spike was staring at Wesley with a strange look on his face. "I'm - you called me William."   
  
Wes nodded and cupped Spike's cheek lightly. "That's who you are, now. You have all these memories, but they aren't yours. Only things like this are." Wesley motioned to the scene around them, and to the figure who was still scribbling away on the rock. "You deserve this memory, nothing else."   
  
Spike nodded and looked resolved for a moment before he smiled. "I deserve this. I didn't kill anyone." He looked a little sheepish and buried his face against Wesley's neck. "I'm a good person."   
  
Wesley grinned and held Spike close, watching as the world began to dissolve again. "You are a good person."   
  
And then the world turned black.   
  
**   
  
When Wesley opened his eyes he was reaching across a table in a bar, for something that Spike was holding out to him. He blinked several times, staring at Spike, who was looking at him with the same amount of confusion.   
  
"Did that actually happen?" Wes asked as he dropped his hand.   
  
Spike shrugged a little and slapped some coins onto the table. "I think it did. But I guess I'd better get going."   
  
Wesley frowned and shook his head. "What? Go where? What are you talking about?" He put down the payment for his own drink and then stood up, motioning for Spike to follow him. "We didn't go through all of that just to leave each other, did we?"   
  
"I don't know," Spike said, starting for the door. He glanced sideways at Wesley and then ahead again. "I like your company a lot, though."   
  
Wesley smiled at that and, when they were alone on the street, he wrapped his arm around Spike's waist and held him close. "I like yours too, William. You're a good man to know."   
  
He led the way to his hotel, and was rather pleased that Spike didn't question it. "Do you want a shower or anything?" he asked as he unlocked the door.   
  
"A shower would be nice," Spike said. Wesley paused when he felt a hand on his arm. "But I want something else, first."   
  
Wes turned to look at him curiously. "What?"   
  
"This," Spike whispered, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against Wesley's with a soft sigh. Wes gasped a little as well, but quickly wrapped his arms around Spike's waist, pulling him close as he deepened the kiss.   
  
This, he thought, made it all worthwhile. Spike felt perfect in his arms and pressed against him, and Wesley was suddenly very much looking forward to the future.  
  
The End. 


End file.
